


Happy Birthday Harklight

by Chryselis



Category: Aldnoah.Zero (Anime)
Genre: Dominant Harklight, Implied Childhood Sexual Abuse, Love and care is everything, M/M, Yes I can hardly believe it myself
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-13
Updated: 2015-11-07
Packaged: 2018-04-20 16:32:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4794458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chryselis/pseuds/Chryselis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Today is Harklight's birthday. Slaine surprises him with a cake, they argue, and realise that the cake really stood for something else entirely.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Even though loyal!Harklight is my first love, Harklight deserves to not get pushed around and suffer so much once in a while. This is a quick fic in honour of his birthday where he actually gets his way for once.

Harklight lies on his bunk, hands cradling his wary head. The ceiling is as grey and clinical as ever. The small room that serves as his only private sanctuary is bare as always. He feels exhausted, yet can’t shut his mind off to the whirlwind of politics disturbing his downtime, which is nothing new either. Everything is as it has been since he entered Slaine Troyard’s service, save for one thing. Today is no usual day, so his uniform lies unceremoniously crumpled on the floor, rather than neatly hanging from the clothes rack.

Today is Harklight’s birthday. 

And well, if all he can do to celebrate is save a few seconds of effort and not put his uniform away, it’ll have to do.

He’s alone, but not resentful. The peace is a welcome respite from his intense military life. He wonders how his family back on Vers is doing – although the thought is a little painful, it allows him to close his eyes and breathe softly, worries loosening their grip until – 

A knock on the door? Harklight grabs a pair of sweatpants, wondering why on earth anyone would knock on his door. It’s the first time anyone has done so, not in the least because all doors in the base require a code or card for entry. If you don’t have either of these, chances are you shouldn’t be trying to gain access to the area in question. Either that or… You’re sneaking into someone’s private quarters. Harklight makes a point of monitoring his interactions so that they never, ever, hint at any form of emotional involvement, so it’s with apprehensive curiosity that he releases the lock on the door.

Now he wonders if he didn’t fall asleep on his bed.

Slaine Troyard is standing in front of his door, still in full crisp uniform, holding a plate with some form of (likely) Terran dish barely holding itself together on it.  
“Harklight! May I come in?” His superior knows he doesn’t have to wait for a response and makes his way to the small table and chair. Plate safely delivered, the younger man turns to his servant and exclaims as brightly as a tired leader can muster:

“Happy birthday!”

Too stunned to reply, Harklight simply stares, confused by the almost surreal situation unfolding before his eyes. His master seems to interpret the silence as timid gratitude, and he goes on to explain the plate carries a slice of “birthday cake”, a Terran birthday tradition the older man recalls hearing about from him before:  
“It’s not really anything like the cake we had on earth, but I talked about it with one of the chefs and we did our best with the ingredients available. I specially saved some flour, which is one of the few things we’ve managed to safely transport back to the base. Although I was missing just about everything else to make it… Normally it should be tall and fluffy but apparently leavening agents don’t work the same in space, even in our sustained environment. So it’s a bit flat. Luckily we could use dehydrated eggs and milk so at least there was that and -”

His usually ghostly complexion radiates with excitement as Slaine Troyard tells Harklight about this special “birthday cake”. To the sullen adjutant, the situation is just too sudden, too much uncalculated pressure on their already tense working relationship.

“Thank you for going to such lengths for me, Lord Troyard. I’m deeply touched,” Harklight swiftly cuts in before the count can make the situation any more personal, “however I’m afraid I can’t possibly accept a gift of such value, it is simply unfit for both our positions. How about I escort you back to your quarters and serve you some tea? There is nothing I can offer you here.”

This time the blonde falls quiet and shifts awkwardly on the spot, obviously hurt.

“I mean, surely your lordship’s time is better spent on more urgent matters?” Although he sees no other logical continuation to the conversation, Harklight still feels a pang of guilt uttering the usual polite rebuttal. He understands the intentions behind the gift, but the stakes are too high. It is his duty to protect Slaine Troyard and flights of fancy, while comforting, are dangerous.

“These quarters aren’t safe for you. There is still a lot of animosity felt amongst the troops over your position and it isn’t wise for you to be seen wandering corridors nonchalantly.”

He looks down at his master, whose fists are clenched, bitter gaze fixed on the controversial cake. Harklight sees the hesitation on his lips as they open slightly and he draws in a deep breath.

“Sorry for the inconvenience. In the future, you should be grateful when your superior takes the time to do something for you. I didn’t need to do this, I just felt bad that there was no one else there for you today.” The words come out like venom, filled with disdain and crushed hopes. Usually Harklight makes allowances when his master’s real feelings are inadvertently pushed out by the constant pressure they are both under.

But today is no usual day, and these are no usual circumstances. Today, Harklight decides, is the day he puts himself first.

“No Lord Troyard, you didn’t need to do this. But limits between master and servant exist for a good reason. I’m perfectly fine not having anyone here for me. I choose to stand by your side in a professional capacity, and that is my sole purpose until this war is over, but it is not your place to reciprocate. You must stay strong and focus on the task at hand.”

It always happens so fast, when anger takes over. In one violent movement, Slaine Troyard sends the birthday cake flying, plate crashing on the floor. It isn’t really about the plate, or the cake. But the plate can break, and it will be replaced. The cake can be dropped on the floor, and simply swept up and thrown out with no real consequences.

Wars cannot be stopped so easily. Relationships cannot be built and fixed so easily. And words cannot be taken back. Better a broken plate than a broken heart.

The two men can barely face each other, both transfixed by the mess on the floor. The angered blonde is breathing heavily, eyes wide in shock, even more surprised by his outburst than the tense man opposite him.

“Harklight, I can’t go on like this. You. Of all people. Don’t push me away like this,” his voice quivering, he slowly backs away, as if afraid he may lose control again.

“My lord -” Harklight pauses. He is also angry. He wants to shake the boy and tell him to pull himself together, he wants to shout at him for caring about something so stupid. He wants to remind him of all the times they stood and fought together, that although he may not say much that he also has feelings. That this is hard for both of them. That he also feels like the brave young man he admires so much pushes him away while he enmeshes himself in a web of intrigue and lies.  
But he knows more anger and emotion are the last things they need right now.

“Lord Troyard, you’re the last person I want to hurt or argue with. Please forgive my rudeness, I only have your best interests at heart. My only intention was to point out that I am not a priority.”

Despite the softness of his voice, the air remains tense. All the words left unsaid now hang between them, and Harklight just cut off their escape route by mitigating the situation.  
Exhausted and unsure how to proceed, he rubs his temples and exhales. He looks his master directly in the eyes, locking their gazes, trying to probe their depths for answers. Tired and unsettled by his servant’s shift in attitude, the shaking figure shrinks back into a corner, knowing that if he loses his temper once more and they come to blows, the taller man will likely dominate him in seconds. Without a uniform concealing the taught muscles, it is clearer than ever that Harklight’s swift rise through military ranks was not just a question of clever courting. He is after all a trained soldier. The younger man always assumed Harklight to be wiry, but now notices his physique is carefully sculpted, and likely maintained in part by the punching bag hanging from the ceiling at the end of his bunk.

Harklight realises the shift in his master’s attention and uses it as an opportunity to close in, slamming his fist on the wall above the count’s head, all manner of position and pretence now dropped.

“Let’s stop this. This isn’t about me. Why did you come here?”

“To see you. To let you know someone remembered your birthday.”

“Lord Troyard,” he suggests, his tone lightening up, “it is not difficult to remember when it is the only day of the year I am not by your side from the moment you wake until the moment you go to sleep.”

The small figure under him winces, as if his cover was just blown.

“Harklight, please drop the niceties, the titles. I’m tired of this.”

The count looks away, again unsettled by Harklight’s intense stare. A stare he’d seen directed at others many times, a stare he’d always been glad is used in his service, not against him. Now facing it himself he feels his composure crumble. This man knows him inside out, knows his patterns of thought, his habits, his hopes, his dreams. Knows him better than anyone else ever has.

“So am I. I’m tired of waiting. Tired of running round in circles.”

“What do you mean Hark-“

Harklight closes the gap between them and leans in to rest his forehead against his master’s, still refusing to break eye contact.

“You’ve been so lonely haven’t you?”

The blonde’s stomach twists at the blunt statement. Tears dot the corner of his eyes, supressed feelings fighting to escape. Harklight towers over him, enveloping him with the strong presence he’s come to take for granted. A finger brushes against his jaw, followed by a calloused thumb barely ghosting over his bottom lip.

“Slaine.” 

The name slips softly off Harklight’s lips as if coated in honey, and Slaine can’t help but relax into it and burry his face into his own shoulder. Harklight studies the boy’s reaction, running a finger along the jaw of the beautiful face so desperately averting his gaze. Each touch is a thousand words left unsaid, a painful lonely moment cast aside on the ground with the broken plate.

“Slaine, look at me.”

Their eyes meet again, and breaths hitch, hearts beating faster. The moment is out of Slaine’s hands and entirely in Harklight’s grasp. He has no authority here, no control on these new grounds. The blonde can’t help but nervously lick his dry lips in apprehension. Harklight emits a frustrated moan and drops his head, before grabbing Slaine’s wrists and holding them with one hand above his head. The younger man is panting now, squirming under the tight grip as he tilts his head back to better face his servant, his friend, his confidante, lips parted, words held hostage at the back of his throat, not wanting to interrupt what he wants, needs, to happen next.

“Slaine…” Harklight’s voice drops to a low, lustful rumble. “I’m going to kiss you, and once I start, I don’t think I’ll be able to stop. If this isn’t what you want, tell me now.”  
Slaine is in such a daze Harklight is surprised he even gets the sputtered desperate admission:

“I-it’s everything I want.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harklight knows it's not always as easy as just wanting someone, and having them want you back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's so much I want to say but I think this chapter speaks for itself. Also haha I just wanted to write a quick oneshot... So much for that.
> 
> If you can handle it, here is the cheesy playlist that fuels my HaSure writing: http://tinyurl.com/hasureplaylist  
> I must have listened to Take Me To Church and Woodkid's I Love You over a 100 times in the past two days.

The moment lips meet for the first time slips out of your grasp faster than you can realise what just happened. Harklight has never been more aware of this. He will only ever have one first kiss with Slaine Troyard, and it needs to last as long as possible, despite the extreme sense of urgency building up inside him. Slaine simply looks up to him with misty eyes, inviting, as if ripe for the picking. Having established a firm hold on his urges, Harklight leans in to trace the shape of his master’s face, jaw, and lips with his own. He ghosts over skin purer than any he has ever seen, smells the scent of golden hair he finds brighter than starlight. Slaine’s breath catches and hikes according to every tiny lick and nip, in rhythm with the touch of the dark haired man’s confident exploration.

Finally words catch up with actions, and Harklight whispers a guilty admission to his eager listener: 

“I’ve wanted to kiss you for so -”

“What’s keeping you then?”

Their first kiss is nothing like Harklight imagined. Slaine’s arms desperately hooked around Harklight’s neck, his kisses are rough, violent, as if a kiss were a fight to the death. Slaine digs his fingers into Harklight’s back, and their teeth clash when he attempts to bite the other’s tongue, pain taking over pleasure in some twisted romantic coup.

The taller man pulls away, concerned.

“Slaine, it doesn’t have to be like this.”

Crystal clear eyes cloud over as Slaine recoils from Harklight’s loving touch.

“I’m sorry, I just… I’m just used to… With…”

Before Slaine can continue, Harklight knowingly envelops him once more, holding him close and gently caressing his hair to soothe away the painful thought that got caught between them.

“Shh, it’s alright. Can you try something else for me?”

He feels Slaine nod in approval into his chest.

“Alright. Follow my lead. Slowly draw me closer to you, take your time. I want to savour you, enjoy you. There’s no rush. But first, let me touch you softly. Don’t kiss me back until I tell you to.”

Rather than wild need, Harklight wants Slaine to feel the timid and deliberate respect preceding one of his own caring kisses. He strokes the blonde’s face, wide eyed in surprise and apprehension, before bringing up the other’s hand to his own, indicating that he should follow his lead. Fingers circle, gently caressing and dragging themselves over lips, the suggestion of an even gentler, warmer touch to come. Slaine moans softly and leans in, eager, only for Harklight to take his chin between thumb and forefinger, as if anything more would break him. Harklight smiles and guides Slaine into the sweetest, lightest kiss he can muster.

They break apart, the younger boy’s face painted red with embarrassment, unaware a simple kiss could cause him to fall so utterly and completely – and now he never wants to stop falling. The older man simply strokes away strands of stray flaxen hair, face adorned with a content smile, waiting expectantly. Slaine grips his forearms, propping himself up to whisper in his ear, afraid anything louder will dispel the harmonious connection between them.

“Harklight, kiss me some more?”

“Of course,” hums Harklight in response, “part your lips for me.”

Harklight kisses him harder this time, on the corners of the mouth, just beneath the lower lip, tasting every inch. He hooks a thumb over Slaine’s lower lip, venturing it in to massage his tongue, all the while smiling as the boy whimpers and moans at his touch, face burning with the heat of desire. He withdraws his thumb and drags the other into a deeper kiss, increasing the pace to encourage Slaine’s moaning and panting.

Suddenly he draws back, admiring the sight before him, the tightness in the count’s creased uniform enough to make him go wild. But he far prefers to savour the moment, marvel at Slaine’s inconvenienced, blushing cheeks. Slaine however isn’t so keen to simply be admired, and promptly reaches out to connect their mouths once more. Harklight laughs and resists, stopping just inches away from the greedy boy’s lips.

“Back for more?” He taunts the trembling body beneath him, eyes twinkling with excitement.

They dive back towards each other, and this time Harklight feels the painful need and desire swelling inside him, overwhelmed by Slaine’s enthusiasm for their kisses, lips, tongues, breaths, groans all mingling at once. This time he wants more.

Out of breath, Harklight resurfaces again and Slaine lets out a disappointed cry, weak knees causing him to slump slightly against the wall. They spend a moment gazing into each other’s eyes, neither knowing if they're ready to proceed further. The older man takes the initiative once more and presses his body closer, keeping them both taught against the wall. As he tentatively slides a leg between Slaine’s, there’s no denying the lust is entirely mutual.

"Slaine, before I go any further - is this your first time?"

Slaine's lust filled eyes glaze over for a second, hardening as if a chilling memory passed through his mind. He looks up to Harklight in response and huskily whispers:

"I want to make you feel good."

The mood flips abruptly, as the blonde drops to his knees and ravenously tugs down his target’s sweatpants, urgently pawing at the boxers underneath, taking Harklight by surprise and forcing him to prop himself up against the wall, gasping in shock.

“What, Slaine, what are you doing? Stop!”

They both freeze, the reality of the situation crashing down harder than expected. In contrast to his earlier yearning, the younger man now seems numb, unable to look his would-be lover in the eyes. 

“Don’t you like this? Is this not what you want?”

The words cut deep as Harklight realises their tone isn’t born from concern, but habit.

“I – No. Not like this at least.”

Harklight kicks the discarded pants aside, pulling Slaine back up close to him by the wrist. He grits his teeth and breathes loudly through his nose in frustration, not at their situation but at the scars an innocent boy has been made to carry. He picks up Slaine and carries him to the bunk, ignoring feeble protests along the way. They lie silently next to each other, bedsheets providing a more forgiving backdrop than the cold steel wall.

Like a loving protector, Harklight fills the emptyness with calming gestures, stroking Slaine’s hair, planting kisses all along his jaw, opening an unspoken lesson in intimacy. They gradually shift towards each other, and when Slaine faces him again he offers the simplest of suggestions:

 

“Let me please you.”

The prompt successfully coaxes another whimper out of the count, betraying a yearning for the closeness he doesn’t yet understand. Harklight carefully places a hand on Slaine’s hip, delicately moving up to the lowest button on his uniform jacket, undoing it deftly before moving on to the next, maintaining eye contact the whole time, monitoring his breathing to set a controlled example. By the time all buttons are undone, they are sitting upright, and Slaine casts the heavy velvet off himself as if shedding a layer of insecurity. Harklight places a hand back on Slaine’s hip, tentatively turning to the next layer of clothing.

“I’d offer you a turn, but there isn’t much to take off.” He laughs and bumps heads with Slaine, who joins in nervously and tugs at the tank top, the only real item of clothing Harklight is still wearing.

“Can you take it off?” asks the blonde quietly, his timidity blooming now Harklight has pacified his urges with tenderness.

Aroused by the interest, the dark haired man does away with the thin piece of black cloth perhaps a little too quickly. He allows a few seconds before proceeding, enjoying the approving hungry eyes roaming across his chest in amazement. He beckons Slaine back in for a kiss, just to confirm the discarded layer isn’t accompanied by a change in behaviour – although with a little more intent, he guides his master back onto the bed, and their bodies join in earnest, legs locking and hands roaming while they maintain a deep kiss.

Harklight moves on and tugs out the bottom of Slaine’s shirt, slipping a hand underneath it in search of warm, tempting skin – only for Slaine to seize up the moment his fingers make contact. He breathes faster, bites his bottom lip and looks away in pain, a mixture of confusion and hurt distorting his face. A bitter doubt surfaces through timid words:

“Harklight, am I not good enough to please you?”

The attentive man wants to be shocked, but begins to understand all too well the nature of Slaine’s confusion and doubt. The last thing he wants is to convey a single hint of rejection, whatever worry sprouts in the blonde’s mind.

“Of course you are, like I said I just want to –“

“You’re too kind. I don’t deserve this.”

“Of course you do, more than anyone else.”

“It’s your birthday.”

“Exactly, so please indulge me if I want to satisfy you.”

“I’ve never been… It was always… Lord Cr –”

 “Slaine,” the tone is final, calling Slaine back out from his past and into the present moment, “I know you’re scared. You don’t have to say or do anything if you don’t want to.”

  
Slaine breathes in deeply, trying to calm down, relaxing into Harklight’s touch as he cups his cheek.

“Please trust that I will never let anyone else ever hurt you again. But if you’re unsure, we’ll stop here.”

The reassurance sinks in and the tense young man melts back into his guardian’s embrace, running his hands over his broad muscular back, heightened bewildering emotions returning to pleasure, the affectionate solace coursing through his body. In an electrifying second their eyes meet, feelings colliding and erupting once more as utter, desperate, desire. Harklight flips Slaine onto his back and straddles him, biting his lip at the beautiful fragile sight before him. Nothing in the world can convince him that Slaine Troyard isn’t worth all the patience and love stolen from him over the years at least ten times over. He leans in, hovering a heartbeat away from their next kiss, and can’t help but confess another guilty admission:

“Slaine, I want to make love to you.”

The lost spark ignites the young man’s eyes once more, smile spreading across his face. He grabs Harklight’s face with both hands, pulling him in, grazing lips and jaw along the way. Unable to contain himself, Slaine lets out a soft moan into the roused man’s ear:

“Then hurry up and take me.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harklight receives far more than he'd ever dare wish for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just wanted to write a quick, sappy, dirty one-shot for Harklight's birthday.
> 
> Almost two months later, I've learnt that I can't write quick, sappy, dirty one-shots.
> 
> Enjoy.

Now that he’s presented with the gorgeous lithe body beneath him, eager and willing, Harklight reconsiders his words. While he does want to make love to Slaine Troyard, he also wants to fuck him senseless until his angelic eyes roll back into his skull and the pleasure building inside him spews out as uncontrollable moans and whines. 

And yet… 

Harklight reminds himself that he’s a patient man. It doesn’t matter if Slaine’s chest is heaving, if he’s thrusting his hips upwards, if dainty hands are grabbing at the bedsheets as his back arches up in need, if his uniform is still on and looks _far_ too tight over the rising length in his pants, if he’s started slowly grinding against his… No. This is about far more than lust. 

“Harklight, what are you waiting for?” 

The strained voice melts into heat and courses right down Harklight’s spine. Slaine’s grip tightens, sheets twisting, betraying the need for something only Harklight can give to him. If there is anything in the world worth savouring he thinks, this is it. 

“Slaine, why are you so impatient?” 

He places a finger on Slaine’s lips, the tremor of a smile passing across his face. 

After all, it’s his birthday. Harklight can have his cake, and eat it too. Slowly. One delicious, sweet piece at a time. Before his demanding master can protest, he pulls Slaine back up onto his lap. His smile widening at the surprised gasp this elicits, Harklight begins to undo the buttons of Slaine’s shirt while the blonde wraps shaking arms around him and runs expectant hands through his hair. He dips into the crook of Slaine’s neck, lips roaming, still not touching the skin now glistening with sweat. Slaine trembles over him, and Harklight begins to counter each of their heated, erratic breaths with small licks, nipping at Slaine’s collarbone. Softly, purposefully, he places wet kisses along the line of Slaine’s jaw, following down the curve of his neck to the edges of the shirt. Buttons now undone, Harklight pulls away to slide the shirt off the slim frame before him. He pauses, shirt discarded, and holds Slaine in place while he takes time to admire him. 

Slaine turns away briskly, blush rising in his cheeks. He clasps a hand to his mouth as if to stop something from escaping, although his legs wrapped around Harklight tell an entirely different story. Harklight simply laughs. He knows he is close now, slowly drawing Slaine out of his fortress, each moment of hesitation a test in trust that will carry them to release. Harklight is intent on taking them another step further, but not without the shying young man reciprocating in kind: 

“Slaine, what will it be? Is this making you uncomfortable?” 

Slaine snaps up, urgency sneaking into his voice when he retorts. 

“T-that’s not it! I don’t want you to stop!” 

“Hmm, really now.” 

 Harklight’s tone is flat, lacking the question you would expect to follow. He knows the blonde’s hesitation isn’t an invitation to stop, it’s only part of his adjustment to their new intimacy – however he’s determined to play it out as much as he can. His hand nests in Slaine’s hair at the base of his neck, thumb caressing the outline of his jaw, content to enjoy the moment. He can feel Slaine relax into his touch again and his shoulders drop, although his eyebrows remain knitted in frustration when he turns his head to face Harklight.

 “Like I said, I’m just not used to this.” 

Harklight hums again and doesn’t coax Slaine any further, twirling strands of his golden hair between his fingers. Slaine sighs, defeated. 

“Fine. I like it. You may continue,” offers the count. 

The servant can’t help but laugh at the choice of words. This battle isn’t going to be won easily. 

“Like it? I apologise Lord Troyard. I will continue until you love it.” 

His answer comes a little more strained and gruff than he would have liked to let on, although he is rewarded with the sight of Slaine throwing his head back and moaning loudly. Harklight proceeds to caress the exposed torso before him, hands appearing larger than he’d like on such a fragile form.

Slaine’s eyes glaze over, as if their usually clear and sharp surface is clouded by the hot needy breaths escaping his lips. He arches into the touch, seeking it, inviting it.

Harklight kisses him in response, first on the nose, then on one cheek, then the other. He holds the young man in place, steadying the canvas on which he is about to draw marks of a love most dedicated and sincere. Laying down the foundations, he sketches neck, shoulders, arms, and chest with the tip of his tongue. Once satisfied with his bold outline, he returns to highlight the smaller details: his mouth travels along Slaine’s jawline in gentle short lived kisses, his teeth graze the curve of shoulders in an attempt to capture their tense elegance. Harklight’s controlled movements are punctuated by his own sighs which, though mellow and content, are but a few notes away from the low bassline to which he so badly wants to sink. Yet still, his patience endures.

This is his picture, a declaration of every furtive gaze and contemplative admiration. A memory of a stolen moment they’ll never reclaim.

His hands venture upwards, fingers reaching for the last crowning detail of his prelude, his masterpiece.

 Slaine’s eyes squeeze tight shut, ashamed of the feelings they may reflect that are already permeating every high pitched sound that slips out of his grasp. He can feel Harklight playing him, running those worn weary fingers across his chest, pinching, squeezing – and all he can do is dig his nails into the older man’s back, holding, no, clinging on to him as he sheds his final layers of insecurity at the loving touch. The marks he’ll leave a temporary reflection of his own scars, a mutual understanding of the pain that imprisons any real pleasure he’s ready to feel.

Harklight knowingly rests his head on Slaine’s shoulder and envelops him, accepting the desperate embrace. Rather than shy away from the welts that meet his hands, he begins to trace them, reading them. A faded map of the maze Slaine Troyard lost himself in years ago.

But Slaine flinches at the deliberate touch, his eyes shoot open, his breathing stops, and his body tenses.

And Harklight doesn’t stop, instead leaning in to ravish Slaine’s lips, groaning deeply into his mouth. Slaine instinctively responds to his desire, meeting his tongue with his own, forgetting himself and his insecurities in the moment. This time Harklight pulls on Slaine’s hair lightly, breaking apart their mouths and guiding Slaine’s lips to his own neck.

“Kiss me here.”

The younger man follows the words blindly, entranced by the security they carry, so far removed from the crushing orders he was once used to receiving. So far away that he is eager for more, rewriting his own story with every shaky kiss, every pained whimper. Letting it all go, anchored to his loyal servant so as not to be dragged back down into memory.   

 “God Slaine, you’re so beautiful,” whispers Harklight, sighing into golden hair, tentatively licking at Slaine’s earlobe.

Every word from Harklight’s mouth, light with elation, pulls Slaine up higher, taller. Unsure kisses turn to eager exploration as he sucks on Harklight’s skin, moaning in satisfaction. When Harklight swallows a groan, Slaine only becomes more determined to unravel his servant, to regain some of his lost control. Determined to hide the fact that in this situation, he is the weaker of the two.

“Especially like this,” Harklight follows, hushed and low, “you take my breath away.”

Slaine whimpers now, the honest admissions coaxing alive a part of him he thought crushed to dust, his thoughts of determination dissolved as swiftly as they form. More than desire, these words are comfort, heartfelt acknowledgment, words forbidden to sick, broken, twisted minds like his, words that feel very much like l-

Slaine bites down on Harklight’s shoulder in desperation, afraid of what may be hiding inside him. Harklight groans -part discomfort, part pleasure – but realising his words are having the desired effect, he continues.

“So strong, so determined, despite everything. No one can ever compare to you.”

Relentless in his offensive, Harklight refuses to leave any room for Slaine’s doubts, tearing down the walls one brick at a time.

Slaine is panting erratically now, pulling at Harklight’s hair to better expose his neck, his other hand roaming across the man’s torso, nails digging into skin as if to confirm it really is flesh and bone before him. Harklight moans softly and leans back, propping himself up as Slaine continues to explore his body. Slaine pushes down against him, so hard the friction between them is tense, painful. He grinds his hips against Harklight’s, who instantly pulls away from the dangerous movement – _not just yet_ he thinks – much to Slaine’s dismay.

They look at each other, anticipation filling the air. To Slaine, anticipation is a knotted brow, a childlike pout, a sharp exhale and a tightening grip. It’s a body not yet mingled with his, it’s a man who knows exactly what he wants, needs and won’t give it to him. It’s the luxury of patience, a promise that for the first time, pleasure won’t be synonymous with shock and violence. It’s becoming what Harklight breathes, an opportunity, a gift of kindness and electrifying tension. It’s replacing apprehension, the ominous feeling that used to weigh down his stomach every waking moment and every vivid nightmare.

It’s also the smile on Harklight’s face, the assertion that “don’t worry. You’ll get what you want, but only when I decide you’re ready for it.”

Before Slaine can argue, Harklight is holding his chin and sliding his thumb over his bottom lip. He then slips a finger into Slaine’s mouth, massaging his tongue.

“Suck it,” he growls.

Slaine’s mouth carefully closes around the finger and begins to suck, heat rising in his cheeks as the act causes restrained lust to swell and protest within him. Harklight isn’t any different, heavy lidded eyes struggling to stay open, the sweet wet warmth around him soft yet tortuous.

Despite the urgency between them, Slaine starts slow.

His lips glide up, then down, pulling Harklight in, out, repeating the motion a little less carefully each time. With speed come the sounds, spit slickened skin smacking in harmony with alluring _ah’_ s and moans and whimpers.

He pulls off suddenly, and Harklight exhales a small _oh_ in disappointment.

Slaine meets the other’s eyes and opens his mouth to run his tongue over his lips suggestively as if to say _this is what I want_.

He pulls Harklight back in, just barely, fingertip resting between his lips, and begins to suckle. Harklight shivers, the subtle lapping of Slaine’s tongue making his body more sensitive than he’d expected. Slaine pushes closer to him, their mouths level, close enough to kiss were it not for the blonde enthusiastically sucking and moaning against Harklight’s hand between them.

Upping the pace, Slaine draws back and licks along the length, holding it flush to his cheek while he whines and shifts in Harklight’s lap. He then rolls his tongue around it, taking it deeper, as deep as he can without choking, finally dragging out the finger between his teeth.

Noticing Harklight’s focus is waning, Slaine takes the initiative and draws another of the man’s fingers into his mouth, needing both of his dainty hands to steady himself over Harklight’s. He moans, taking them in to the back of his throat, head bobbing up and down, entire body synchronised with the movement, and Harklight meets him halfway, pushing back with raised hips.

It’s not enough. Nowhere near enough.

All Slaine can feel is the ache between his legs, the awful amount of space still left between them that could be filled in so many different ways. He moans Harklight’s name loudly, the sound entirely obscene and distorted by the lapping and sucking that follows it.

“H-Harklight,” pants Slaine, voice melting into a whimper, “I want you. Please.”

Up until now, Harklight had thought himself to be a man of composure and self-discipline. He’d envisaged a slow, controlled descent, maybe fixing the occasional slip until finally he brought his master the relief he duly deserved. But the arousal in Slaine’s voice triggers his deepest desires, the uncontrolled lust kept bottled up for so many months, all the times he pushed away images of his master while he touched himself, berated the desire for someone that could never be his, and now he was, so why wait any longer?

What more is there to be gained by patience when they could fall together, now, forever, into a mess of bodies and carnal pleasure?

Harklight pushes Slaine onto his back, all but ready to rip off their last offending items of clothing. He roughly removes the count’s trousers and then kicks off his own boxers. A thought flickers through his mind, a meek _didn’t you want to take this slow_ , immediately quelled by the sight of Slaine naked, erect, and flushed before him.

 

_Ah_

A tremor passes down Harklight’s spine, tension rippling out across his body, his broad shoulders hunched and arm muscles bulging from the stress of exercising restraint. 

_It’s alright. You can be gentle,_ he tells himself, gaze sliding far too easily down Slaine’s pristine porcelain shape, lingering over capriciously carved hip bones before – snapping back up to his face, afraid of what they will become once the final barrier between them is broken. 

Slaine however isn’t quite so reserved. He instantly wraps his legs around Harklight’s torso and pulls him close, hooking his arms back around the man’s neck, every inch of their bodies now touching. Needy mewls marry guttural groans as they revel in the new sensations together, pressure intense and burning between their stomachs. 

“Harklight,” gasps Slaine, last syllable drawn out, hand reaching down between them. Even in an aroused state, Harklight’s reflexes are no match for him, and Harklight grabs his wrist and holds it down above his head to leans in to kiss him. But the younger man is too far gone to be rebuked so easily, his desire turning to pain, so he stills Harklight’s chin with his spare hand to stop him and asserts: 

“God damn it Harklight, fuck me!” 

Harklight remains silent, intense and focused, the weight of him resting against Slaine’s stomach, while Slaine twitches and squirms, grinding his hips against him. Harklight kisses Slaine roughly, spare hand teasing his nipples as he lifts and lines Slaine up against him, hungry length flush against his master’s entrance. Slaine’s frustration is almost at its peak, _any second_ , thinks Harklight, _any second now_ he’ll get what he wants and - 

“Fuck, god, I just want you inside me already, Harklight, please!” 

A smirk flashes across Harklight’s face, and he leans down over Slaine, pressing hard against him, to whisper in his ear: 

“I thought I told you to be patient. Are you that desperate for me to fill you?” 

All pretences abandoned, Harklight shoves two of his fingers into Slaine’s mouth, who melts and moans right into them, lifting his ass up in the air expectantly. 

“If you want it now, it’s not going to be gentle”, he warns, pulling slicked fingers out from between swollen lips. 

“I know”, breathes Slaine in response, words barely audible through a haze of lust, “and that’s just how I like it.” 

Any sweetness Harklight cultivated, clung to, is shattered the moment he growls into Slaine’s hair and roughly presses a finger into him. Slaine’s cry curls along with his fingers in the bedsheets, meeting the sensation and allowing Harklight no chance to work him up slowly, moving himself up and down and slamming onto him abruptly. 

The second finger slides in too quickly, too easily, and Slaine adjusts to it in moments, already crying out for more and jutting his hips painfully against Harklight’s hand. Harklight can’t help but wonder what rougher, larger, harsher intrusions his master is used to accommodating. The thought boils inside him into fiery anger and he withdraws his fingers suddenly, leaving Slaine dazed and doe-eyed in apprehension. Dark hair clings to Harklight’s face as he towers above Slaine, sweaty and out of breath from pleasure, impatience, from the frustration at the thought of the one who tainted this precious body before him. 

Consumed by the selfish desire to wash away any trace of the past, along with the ravenous need for release, his mind races, finally aligned with that of the young man beneath him: 

“I’m going to fuck you. Hard.” 

Slaine moans in approval while Harklight lathers himself with spit, and without any further warning burries himself fully into decadent sin. 

There is no more time to go slow, there is no more room for calming words and innocent suggestive gestures. There is only friction, tightness, frustration, the grind of flesh on flesh causing erotic sounds to spill out anywhere they can escape. Were he even conscious, Harklight may worry that his grip on Slaine’s hips will leave bruises the next day. Should he listen to himself, Slaine might think to quiet the undignified animal cries he emits, but they are both past caring. The constant stream of Slaine’s vocal satisfaction instead urges on Harklight, who rams himself into the tiny frame below him, almost shaking like a toy, so lost to pleasure rising with every thrust that his body is almost limp. 

“Yes. Fuck. More. More! You’re so – aaah! God, Harklight, don’t stop!” 

_Yes. That’s it._ “Come on Slaine, so close now, come for me.” 

Primal instinct trickles through Harklight’s mind, eroding even the future notion of the self-control he’s fought so hard to maintain. First it engulfs him in sweet and sticky comfort, next searing into his skin like a slow punishment, flaring up into a cascade of molten need, eating him up, consuming the body beneath him one violent thrust after another and another and – 

Slaine tightens around him and yields, crying out Harklight’s name one final time. Harklight follows, almost noiselessly, grunting and shuddering as pleasure courses through him. Harklight pulls out and they collapse into each other, relieved and spent. Discomfort soon sets in; the sheets on the bed damp, the air of the small room musky and saturated, their bodies dirty and sticky. 

Harklight gets up and grabs some towels from the bathroom, offering a “you can use my shower if you want.” Slaine shakes his head and offers his “thank you, but I should leave,” discretely cleaning himself off and gathering his uniform while Harklight, sat on the edge of his bunk, gazes at the ground and relinquishes “I understand Lord Troyard, I still have a lot of cleaning up to do.” 

Unbeknownst to them both, their trains of thought follow the exact same track:

 

_It’s too complicated._

_It’s too painful._

_The thought of losing you._

 

Slaine is already dressed, albeit a little dishevelled, and at the door before Harklight can decide whether or not to say anything. The door opens and he steps out, only to stop in the doorway before writing off this moment once and for all.

“Happy Birthday Harklight.”

And so, Harklight finds himself back on his bunk. Today is no usual day, so his uniform lies unceremoniously crumpled on the floor, also littered with his underwear and lounge wear, as well as the remains of a birthday cake and a plate. The grey clinical ceiling seems comforting to him now, the last part of his private sanctuary intact. He feels exhausted, yet can’t shut his mind off to the whirlwind that is Slaine Troyard in his life. Everything is as it has been since he realised he’d developed feelings for him, save for one thing.

Today is no usual day, and Harklight wishes it were so he could forget about it like any other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> P.S. Writing in present tense is weird. I've also never written a sex scene before. This fic is entirely experimental please forgive me.


End file.
